


Dreams

by blueeyesdarkskies



Category: Brooklyn Nine-Nine (TV)
Genre: Angst, Drabble, F/M, Fluff, Light Smut, Soulmates, cuddle timez, one shots
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-05
Updated: 2017-01-05
Packaged: 2018-09-14 21:46:48
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,029
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9204701
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/blueeyesdarkskies/pseuds/blueeyesdarkskies
Summary: One shots involving the nightmares of my fave TV couple.





	1. Dreams

**Author's Note:**

> I love the whole 'love of my life had a nightmare' trope, and basically this is an excuse to write serious/fluffy Jake and Amy. Next one shot will be the same premise with roles reversed, and a bit of light smut.

Jake didn’t get bad dreams often. It was a bit surprising considering his line of work; gore and bodies were all too common, and definitely not the stuff of happy dreams despite what he always thought when he was younger. 

However his unbelievable skills at repression could only work so well, and every now and then he would be hit by a nightmare so intense, so graphic, that it left him rattled. 

He was never rattled for long of course; hell, he was Jake freakin Peralta. He didn’t let anything get to him. 

Usually his routine for those rare occasions was simple. He’d wake up in the middle of the night, soaked in sweat and gasping for air at the horror his mind played, and then would spend an hour or so pacing, eating, or watching sitcoms. By that point in time he’d feel like his normal, brilliant self and go back to sleep. 

He’d never been hit by one when he was in a relationship with anybody. 

His attempts at dating and commitment were just that: attempts. So short and meaningless that he never had had time to feel comfortable or familiar with the idea. 

Until Amy. 

Usually the dreams were generic scenarios with faceless people, but that one night... It was her. 

He couldn't get to her. She was in a cell with three punks and he just watched. Watched as they did unspeakable things to the woman he loved. It was so real... He could hear the screams and smell the blood, feel hands on his shoulders pulling him away from her and-

"Jake!" 

He gasped for air, waking up. He looked wildly around the room for her, choking on a sob when he saw her right beside him. The sweetest relief flooded through his mind. It wasn't real. That agony of being helpless and forced to watch... It was over. She was here and safe and beside him, and goddammit he was never letting her go. 

Her hands were warm and soft, running over his hair, his face, his skin. Jake blindly reached for her, burying his face between her breasts. His hands found her back, holding her to him so tightly it was a wonder she was able to breath. 

He realized he was crying. If the moment wasn't so emotional for him he would've cracked a joke or made fun of it all, but dammit he couldn't cover this thing up like he did everything else. He couldn't make light of it and act as if it didn't mean anything when it did. 

Slowly his heart stopped thundering in his chest, the tremors stopped, and he was able to listen to Amy. She was whispering against his hair, petting it back with one hand while the other rubbed his back. She was whispering about how she was there, and he was okay, and everything was fine and safe and wonderful because they were together. 

Jake let those words wash over him like a balm, soothing raw nerves and a frayed spirit, bringing him back to reality. 

He realized how cold she was; he was dressed only in boxer shorts, but his body was practically a human heater, always warm. Amy was always freezing, and here she was in nothing but a tank top and her underwear, goosebumps forming on the soft skin of her arms. 

"C'mere." He managed, his voice scratchy. He sat up slowly and held out his arms. "You're cold." 

He held her close and pulled the covers up around them, their legs entangling as she wrapped her arms around his torso, effectively switching their positions. He made sure there wasn't an inch of room between the two of them, wanting to be as close to her as physically possible.

"You okay?" She asked gently, her hand tracing patterns on his chest. 

He nodded. "Yeah."

"You want to talk about it?" 

Did he? Did he want to tell the love of his life about a horror move his mind played, involving her body being used and tortured beyond recognition? About how he just stood there and watched and couldn't do anything to help her? About how it was his worst fear in the world along with the possibility of her leaving him like his dad left his mom?

"Baby." Her voice cracked and he could tell she was crying. He realized he'd said everything out loud and instantly regretted it. 

"I'm sorry-" He began. 

"Stop it. You should never be sorry for talking to me." Her voice was higher pitched and he could almost hear the tears. "It was a nightmare, a terrible one, but it isn't real. And I'm here, safe, and I'm not going anywhere. I'm not leaving you like your dad, and I never want you to think that it's a possibility because I'm lost without you and you're... you're-" Her voice broke off in a hiccupped whimper. 

More tears fell down his face. He didn't deserve her. Didn't deserve a woman so smart and kind and wise and courageous. So beautiful and crazy and quirky and perfect. Yet here she was; clinging to him as if she was the one who needed saving. 

"Hey now, don't steal my moment." He joked, leaning down to kiss her cheeks. She laughed through her tears and in that moment, he knew something he didn't know before. This woman owned him. Utterly and completely, body and soul, he was hers. She could tell him to crawl through hell and he'd do it happily for her. 

It should have scared him. The mere thought of belonging to someone else, of relying on anybody totally... It used to send him running. Not now. Now he felt complete in a way he'd never imagined. Whole. 

And it was thrilling.


	2. Dreams (in reverse)

The room was dark, and cold, and she couldn't hear a thing. Waiting had always made her nervous, as did the unknown. 

A blinding light flashed and there he was. Jake. Strapped to a reclined table, almost naked, with wires and instruments and terrifying apparatuses surrounding him. The room was white and sterile and horrible, masked figures everywhere. 

Amy watched. Watched with increasing alarm as the figures began to touch him, and then crying hysterically as he began to scream. She couldn't do anything. He was right in front of her and she couldn't help him, couldn't do a thing except scream and cry and plead with them to stop, stop it-

"Amy, stop!" 

She jerked upwards, inhaling as if she had been underwater and finally emerged. Looking around to see where she was, finally reassured that she was in their apartment where she belonged, not in some garish scenario her mind conjured up. 

She looked for him. There he was, sitting beside her with the moonlight shining down on the both of them. They had fallen asleep watching it rise over the edge of the horizon, and now it was high above them, bathing them and the room in a beautiful milky light. 

"Jake." She managed between gasps. He reached for her and she fell against him holding on as tightly as she could. His arms wrapped around her, instantly soothing; she loved his arms, strong and solid and steady, always gesturing or communicating or arguing with her. Now they reassured her, the weight comforting and familiar. 

"Pretty bad one, huh?" He asked between gentle, butterfly-like kisses to her hair and neck. 

She just nodded.

"Who was there?" 

The simple question caused a wave of panic to rise in her chest, and her breathing to grow rapid. 

"You." She choked out. Tears slid down her cheeks again. 

"Hey, shh. I get it." He said, rubbing her neck. "Don't think about it." 

She nodded again. Jake bent to kiss her cheeks, and suddenly she was kissing his lips. An innate need to be closer to him was rising quickly, her fingers digging into his back as she pulled him into her. 

"Amy, baby..." He groaned against her mouth. 

She pulled back, looking into his eyes. "I just want you right now." She managed to whisper. 

His confused expression softened before turning into something more intense. One hand went to her neck, the other her back, and the next thing she knew he was hovering above her.

Amy couldn't stop the breathy sighs from escaping as his lips found just the right spots on her neck, teasing her as she felt that delicious heat curl in her core.

Her hands fisted in his hair when he slid her tank top straps down her arms, baring her breasts to the cool night air. Lips found their way to the hardened peaks, nibbling and sucking in turn. She couldn't hold back the gasps.

She ran her fingers through his hair. One hand slid down to cup him through his boxers. He grew hard beneath her touch, his breath hitching. She loved having him like this, vulnerable, honest, serious. He was a joker, and she adored that about him--it was the reason she first liked him--but this... This was a side only she got to see. 

His mouth finally made it down her torso, and he stripped her underwear off in one fluid motion. 

"Jake!" Her voice was hoarse as his tongue found her clit. He moved with the finesse of a man who knew what the hell he was doing, teasing and tasting in turn, pushing her to the limit.

Amy's senses were heightened. Nothing else existed in that moment but him and her and the feel of the sheets beneath her fingertips. She was going to come, she told him so, her hips began to buck upwards... 

And suddenly he stopped. 

"What-" She began breathlessly, her voice tinged with desperation. 

Then he was kissing her fiercely, and she could taste herself on his lips. Her hand curled around his neck pulling him closer to her with a moan. 

Jake pulled back suddenly, that Cheshire cat grin lighting up his adorable face. "You like that don't you?" 

Amy's cheeks flushed. He knew she did. 

"Hush." She ordered, pulling him close again. One of her hands reached down, squeezing his ass while simultaneously pulling his hips into hers. He began grinding into her center, the only thing separating them was the thin fabric of his boxers. 

She couldn't stop the whining, whimpering noises from escaping her. She was so close... 

As if of one mind, he shoved off his shorts and with a searing kiss to her lips, thrust into her. 

He cried out as loudly as she did. They were both stimulated, emotional, frantic. This could not have been more needed. 

When Jake began rocking back and forth, she could barely breath. His lips were beside her ear telling her how good she felt, how wet she was, how much he loved her. She could only respond in wordless keens; Jake always loved to joke about how he was the articulate one in bed. She was the screamer. 

His thrusts grew quicker and quicker, and Amy could practically feel her climax approaching. She pinched one of his nipples between her thumb and forefinger to urge him on. He swore loudly before returning the favor. 

Like a spring, she was growing tighter and tighter until finally, blissfully, she came. Vaguely she heard his groan, a deep and guttural sound loud enough to pierce through the sensory overload that was her orgasm.

She knew she was cursing and arching, grinding and clenching her thighs against him for enough friction to ride against the overwhelming sensation coursing through her. He complied, his thrusts slowing until they both came down to earth. 

Eventually her senses began returning. She could feel the smoothness of his skin, the heat of his body on top of her. Smell the sweat and sex in the air, taste the salt of his skin, and hear their breaths slowing. 

They lay like that, reveling in the electricity between them, that something so old, so primal, could feel like the newest and most exciting discovery in the world. 

Her hands were absentmindedly stroking his shoulder, his lips kissing her neck, when she heard him whisper:

"Marry me."


End file.
